


I'd Rather Not

by orangecrushcrushcrush



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Sex, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangecrushcrushcrush/pseuds/orangecrushcrushcrush
Summary: “We have summoned you, oh hero,” the king says, waving an arm imperiously from his throne.“No thanks,” you say.“What?”---Collection of oneshots! A slice of life/pwp fantasy AU featuring different OW characters x different isekai'd readers. ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reader, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Reader
Comments: 152
Kudos: 525





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> just felt like bashing something out for OW! requests can go here or on my twitter @orangecccrush

You’re familiar with “magic portals to another world”. You’ve seen them on shows, read about them in books, walked through them in games. It is, you can say with confidence, a very different thing to experience it yourself. 

“We have summoned you, oh hero,” the king says, waving an arm imperiously from his throne. 

“No thanks,” you say.

“What?”

Everyone in the hall falls silent. The king stares at you. You stare at the king. A minute of complete quiet passes, while you try to figure out if they seriously just dragged you out of bed and into a whole new plane of existence just to order you around.

“If you do not help us, we will  _ not  _ return-” he starts, but you have heard all you needed to hear, which is that they have very purposely inconvenienced you and that you are clearly better off not under the employ of the current nobility. 

Whatever else he says is lost over the cries of the guards as you sprint off down the hallway and out the doors, but really, it probably wasn’t worth your time to hear anyway.

\---

Choose-your-own- ~~adventure~~ character from the chapters! (IF THERE ARE MORE CHAPTERS LMAO)


	2. McCree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> incubus!mccree

It turns out that there are many, many things to get used to in this new world. Magic, for example. The lack of advances in scientific technology. Probably being a wanted fugitive. Just  _ so many things. _

Luckily for you, your summoned-into-another-world set meal comes with a big fat side of magic powers(ish), and while you may not have saint-like healing or world-crushing destructive magic, you have enough. It turns out that one can make a pretty good living selling enchanted items here, so that’s what you do- and you spend whatever free time you have after that trying to enchant yourself the hell back to where you came from. 

All it’s gotten you so far is a whole lot of yelling from the neighboring houses about  _ sudden explosions _ and  _ property damage _ and that  _ your chanting late at night is scaring the children, _ but all good things take time. 

\---

The one time you consider venturing outside the city, the guards stop you with a half-hour lecture about the fact that this area borders “demon country”, and then they start squinting at you and asking stupid questions like _ haven’t I seen you on a wanted poster before, _ and you have to beat a hasty retreat anyway.

\---

You’ve just about gotten used to your new (and still hopefully temporary) lifestyle when winter hits, and with it comes cold, and sleet, and rain. There is no fantasy-world equivalent of door-to-door delivery, which means customers still come to you, but which also means you have to go clumping around in the snow whenever you run out of food and supplies. You wrap yourself in so many warm-enchanted clothes that you barely resemble a human anymore, and you are  _ still cold.  _ Maybe your next project should be some god damn enchanted central heating.

“Miss,” someone says, which is odd, because you should be the only person stupid enough to go out in this weather.  The figure beckoning you over is tall-ish, and that’s about all you can make out through the rain. Then they cough; a hacking, wet cough, and oh, that’s not a good sound. That’s the kind of sound that you’d hear right before calling an ambulance, but there are no ambulances in this god-forsaken world, there is only you and your fifteen warm and soggy blankets and that is far from satisfactory. You rush over, looking out for a guard, or anyone else on the street that might be any help-

A crack of lightning lights up the sky for a split second. The deafening thunder that follows is enough to mask your shriek, because the person you were rushing towards has horns. Giant, curling demon horns, and the arm that was motioning you over is covered in what looks like black armor, and suddenly you remember what the guards were saying about _demon country._ Lightning flashes again, the rain somehow gets even heavier, and yes. Now is absolutely the time to run the fuck away. 

“Wait,” says your would-be murderer, reaching for you with undoubtedly murdery hands. No, you will not wait. You've seen horror movies. You know what happens to people who  _ wait.  _

He tries to say something else, but instead just doubles over; hacking and coughing and...bleeding. A lot. In fact, this demon looks particularly close to death’s door, which is great for you, since you can just hightail it back home and absolutely not get caught up in any sense of pity or sympathy or stupid ideas about helping people in need.

\---

“Fuck,” you say, dragging him along the street like a giant sack of potatoes.

“Fuck,” you say, chucking him on the bed and haphazadly dumping whatever healing-ish drinks you have into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” you say, because you gave your only bed to a soon-to-be corpse, and now you have to sleep on the hard, wooden floor. 

\---

“Rise and shine,” your alarm clock says. You blindly reach out to smack it quiet, a second before you remember that your alarm beeps, and also you no longer have an alarm clock.

The corpse you dragged in off the street doesn’t look much like a corpse any more. Either your half-assed first aid worked, or demons just heal a lot quicker than expected. 

“Yeah,” he says, when you point to the bandages you wrapped around his stomach wound, a wound that no longer looks life-threatening. “Much obliged.”

You kick the chair you're sitting on, not really knowing what to say next (what kind of conversation does one hold with a demon?), but he certainly seems to have everything under control. In one smooth motion, he steps in, trapping you in between the chair and table. 

"I owe you one," he says, tipping your chin up with one hand. When he leans down, he's so close you can feel how warm he is, warm and smelling faintly of smoke and wood. The hand at your chin moves up to cup your face, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. It’s early; barely past sunrise, and his eyes seem to glow as they hold your gaze in the pale light.

You can feel something; a slight breeze, a faint  _ pull, _ as if to somehow draw you even closer. He shifts a little, his mouth so close to your ear he only has to whisper to be heard. 

“Lemme make it up to you, darlin’,” he breathes. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

There’s a sense of energy in the air, a crackle so faint you have to strain to feel it. His mouth moves from your ear to your jaw, your neck, his hands moving to follow the same slow path down your body.

“No thanks,” you say.

“What?”

\---

You have a few theories about how the fact that you’re from another world makes you markedly less susceptible to magic. You won’t share these theories with the demon, because he’s been lying face-down on your bed for the last half hour, moaning about how  _ incubi don’t even take that much life force _ and how  _ everyone has to eat, y’know _ and how  _ humans these days are just downright unaccomodating. _

You’ve never thought of succubi and incubi as anything but creatures from fantasy novels and video games, but this particular one acts a lot less like a life-sucking denizen of the darkness and a lot more like your friends after one too many drinks at the bar.

“So,” he says, finally having complained himself out. “Gonna turn me in, sweetheart?” 

You think about how much distaste the people in this city seem to have for demons and demonkind. Honestly, looking at him, it kind of feels like their fears are mostly unwarranted- and like he just said. Everyone’s gotta eat.

\---

He looks stunned when you offer to give him the spare room, but you weren’t using it. You don’t want him leeching off  _ your  _ life force. Everyone else is fair game. 

“You ain’t got a problem with me bringin’ back the odd overnight guest?”

“It’ll be just like sharing a dorm in college,” you say peaceably. 

“What’s college?”

\---

So you spend the next few months rooming with an incubus. It goes surprisingly well - you don’t complain about the thumping coming from his room, and he doesn’t complain about the minor explosions coming from yours. He doesn’t ask questions about your profound ignorance regarding this entire world and its inhabitants, and you don’t turn him over to the guards. Win-win.

While you work in your shop, he spends his time sneaking around the city, doing what you can only assume is reconnaissance. What kind of incubus needs to do reconnaissance? 

“Got a job to break someone outta the city,” he says one evening, when you ask him why he’s here in the first place. You figure out over dinner conversation that he's some kind of mercenary, and that a contract went bad the day you found him out on the street. It’s just a good thing you were there to save him from his imminent demise.

“I did offer to make it up to you,” he says, giving you a dramatically overdone, come-hither look. You hold out your hands.

“Cash,” you say. 

“Sorry, darlin’. Left it all back home,” he says, and that’s disappointing, but it’s not like you can go traipsing over to some demon city anytime soon. It’s okay. You were always a magnanimous, charitable,  _ benevolent  _ type of-

He rolls his eyes. “A regular saint,” he grumbles, but he takes all the dishes and helps you clean up, so it’s all good. 

\---

The more time you spend together, the more you appreciate having him around. He's a good houseguest- he helps you with the shop, gives you all the information you need about the city and world you now live in, and has a seemingly never-ending number of stories to tell about his mercenary work. 

Sometimes he sticks to an issue and just  _ won't let go, _ though. 

"You  _ sure _ you don't mind me bringin' folks home," he says, for what's probably the third time today. He's already brought, like, twenty different people back, why would you have a problem now? 

"Ain't no human lookin' to even talk to us demons, and here you are letting one just waltz into your home," he says, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and leaning all his bulk into you and making your work almost impossible to do. “Fair chance you’re just gonna end up kidnapped. Or worse.”

Actually, you will be fine, because all those failed “go-back-home” experiments have left you with at least a dozen explosive scrolls just sitting in your room. The only reason you haven’t tried using any is because they’d probably destroy part of your house in the process. 

“What, you got someone else watchin’ out for you?” he says, before you can reply, looking just a touch more disgruntled than any freeloading housemate has the right to look.

“Well,” you say. But before you can start showing off your fantastic incendiary inventions, you feel that odd  _ pull,  _ that telltale sign that he’s doing that sneaky incubus magic again. 

You whap him on the head. “Quit it.”

He sighs, the arm around your shoulders squeezing a little tighter. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”

\---

Soon enough, winter turns into spring, and he’s looking pretty much healed. His wounds have all but disappeared, and it’s only a matter of time before he can get back to mercenary work. It’s kind of a bummer to think about being all alone in your house again, but this was never a long-term thing. All that scout work has paid off, he says, packing what little he has and clearly moving on to the next part of his job. 

“Good luck,” you say, stuffing some extra bandages into his pouch. 

“Don’t go missin’ me too much,” he says, and he looks like he wants to say a fair bit more, but it’s getting late, and you both have other things to take care of.

\---

As usual, your experiment for that evening has failed. As usual, you hear the neighbors yelling their complaints in your direction. What you’re not used to anymore is the quiet that really brings home the fact that you’re the only one left in this house. You pack your equipment away distractedly, thinking about other things. Maybe an enchanted music box. More books? Something to while away the time you used to spend talking-

The shouting at your door is the only signal you get that something’s not right, and a second later that same door gets kicked in by what looks like...two? Three? No, four guards, all armed and looking rather out of place in this quiet alley. 

_ “Where’s the demon,”  _ the guard at the front says, sword drawn, absolutely ready for a fight. 

You think of the explosive scrolls you’ve relocated to various corners of the house. You promised yourself you would never use them, because that would mean you’d probably have to flee the city. Only in the most dire of situations would you ever consider using something so destructive, you told yourself. But now this, this is like if god himself reached out to you and handed you a shining opportunity to  _ finally reenact the escape action sequence of your dreams- _

“Why...why’s she breathing so heavy?” says a guard from the back. You try to look normal. Their faces tell you it’s not really working. 

“I’ll bring you to him,” you say in your best “harmless townsman” voice, trying to sound like you’re not suddenly incredibly excited to blow a chunk of your house to smithereens and flee into the night.

The guards move to follow you, carefully, and they are  _ so very close _ to where you’ve stuck the scroll under the floorboards-

A crash. A shower of glass fragments. Suddenly there’s someone else standing between you and your four would-be victims.

_ “Back off,”  _ snarls the demon, grabbing one guard by his collar and sending him flying across the room,  _ god damn it. _

What the hell is he doing? Why is he even fighting? Your brain can’t keep up. He’s thrown himself into the fight like a man possessed, managing to give even the three remaining guards a run for their money. The room is filled with the sounds of people shouting, furniture breaking; you have to dodge a particularly badly-aimed chair.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shriek, running to the window and unlatching it. All three guards turn to you, and the demon immediately rushes to block their path. You gesticulate wildly, one leg already out the window.

“Seduce them!  _ Seduce them!” _

Silence. The five of you stand as if frozen, staring at each other. No one says a word.

You grab your demon’s arm, toss the last scroll you had tucked into your belt into the center of the room, and drag him out the window before the explosion hits.

\---

It turns out that there is, in fact, a way to sneak out of the city without going through the main gates. 

“My magic does  _ not work that way,”  _ he says as the both of you crawl through the underbrush, going on and on about  _ place  _ and  _ timing  _ and  _ settin’ the mood, _ when all you want to hear is  _ I’m so very sorry for ruining the most legitimate LARPing experience you could ever have had.  _

“Hey,” he says, grabbing your arm. “I’m real sorry about...y’know.” 

You consider that you have never told this man about many things, things like incendiary enchanted scrolls, or the fact that you’re already probably a wanted fugitive anyway. You pat his hand.

“If you’re going back home,” you say, “you can pay me back in cash.” 

You can see an incredible range of expressions flicker across his face, expressions that say  _ are you seriously coming with me to demon territory _ and _ is that really all you wanna say _ and  _ exactly how much are we talkin’ about here.  _ Finally, he just shakes his head and hauls you out of the bushes. 

“Okay, darlin’,” he says. “Okay.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWOW thank you so much for reading! I hope it was even a lil entertaining!


	3. Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vampire!Reaper

Even though getting sucked into some alternate universe is generally a terrible and inconvenient thing, the complimentary magic powers are almost enough to make up for it. 

The guards trying to block your dramatic exit from the palace learn pretty quickly that the only thing waiting for them are well-placed bolts of lightning. You make a run for it, stun-gunning those who get too close, electric projectiles raining down behind you. 

Yes. Almost enough to make up for it.

\---

You spend the next week making your winding way towards...who knows? This isn’t disneyland. You didn’t pick up a park map on your way out. Luckily, there are enough towns (suburbs?) along the outskirts of the city who don’t yet know about the whole “escape from the castle” situation. It’s easy to get food, water, and supplies, just by offering your services by passing off as a run-of-the-mill travelling mage, and you spend your copious amounts of free time exploring the uncharted territory outside the safe haven of the small towns.

_Demon territory,_ like that’s a real thing. It’s incredible that fairy tales have been enough to keep an entire city’s population out of the surrounding lands. 

The forest is dense and dark, with an almost cartoonish sense of foreboding, but that means nothing to you with your unfair amounts of magic. You crash through bushes, march through clearings, and generally don’t even try to sneak around. Who else is in this forest besides you? No point trying to be quiet. You’ve lightning-bolted a fallen branch to use as a torch, and you’re still waving it around in the air when suddenly the forest is gone, and in its place is a building.

Not a building.  _ Another fucking castle.  _

On the plus side, there probably isn’t any king to order you around in this one. It looks dilapidated. The windows on the first floor have been smashed in; whatever patterns there were on the banners has long since faded away. The large stones that make up the exterior have moss and small plants pushing through the cracks, and you can’t see even a single light coming from the inside. 

A smarter person would have left; would have gotten far, far away from what is probably the most textbook example of a haunted house you have ever seen. But you are not a smart person, and also you can probably electrocute whatever ghouls are lurking in there back into the afterlife. Besides, there’s clearly no one living there now—and you know what they say. Finders keepers. 

\---

The huge entrance door has almost completely rusted over. You have to drag, and kick, and zap off a few locks before you can even get in. The inside is somehow even darker than the forest, with barely any light coming through the smashed-in windows. You can barely make out anything around you, but again, that’s not a problem. You raise your flaming torch with satisfaction.

_ “My _ castle now,” you say.

“I don’t think so,” says something from behind you. 

\---

“I am, uh, I am very sorry about the lightning,” you say.

The creature you’re apologizing to folds his arms, managing to look imposing even with half his cape, one boot, and most of his jacket burnt to a crisp. 

"It looked empty,” you say, in your best and most apologetic voice. “I didn’t think I’d find, uhm, a ghost like yourself-”

He growls.

“A, um, _ poltergeist-” _

Even through the _ full-face mask, _ you can see him glowering.

“...A zombie?”

\---

“Vampires are kind of different where I come from-"

“Stop following me,” he mutters, tromping up the huge, rickety staircase to the second floor.

“I’m really sorry about burning your clothes,” you say, following him. Lithe, slim, beautiful, is what you thought vampires looked like. This vampire looks like he lifts three times his weight at the gym. Do vampires go to the gym?

_ “Grrrgh,” _ is what he says in reply, and really, if he’s going to talk like that, no wonder people mistake him for a zombie-

Banging from the front door. Shouts from the outside. 

"Come out, demon!" says what sounds suspiciously like the city guards. "We've got you surrounded!" 

This can’t be real. How are there even guards here? Do they patrol this deep into the forest? Spinning around, the vampire growls again, fists clenched. 

"Wait, wait," you say, holding up your hands. "What if i go out and tell them there's no demon here?" 

He eyes you (you think. Hard to tell with that mask). You give him a very optimistic thumbs up. "It'll be great! Peaceful. Quiet. They'll be gone in no time." 

He looks down at his ruined clothes and sighs. It's probably the closest you'll get to affirmation, so you head back downstairs to open what's left of the door. 

\---

They really  _ do _ have the place surrounded. You stick your head out the door and wave in the friendliest way possible. 

"It's not a demon," a guard says confusedly. 

"Human," you say, and "Just me," and "This castle is abandoned." 

They're lowering their weapons. They're looking a lot less unfriendly. This is going much better than you expected. 

"Wait, I know you," says the leader, and  _ fuck.  _

In an instant, he's opened his goddamn big mouth and started yelling about how you're the  _ traitor that fled from your duties _ and  _ you've probably thrown your lot in with the demons _ and  _ you should be locked up in the dungeon.  _

You try to calm them down, and say that they’ve got the wrong person, but he just keeps running his stupid mouth and the other guards are lifting their stupid swords and getting back into their stupid formation and  _ god fucking damn it- _

A crack, a flash of light right at their feet, and oh,  _ now  _ they’re quiet. This is profoundly satisfying. In fact, you should have used magic from the beginning, what were you thinking? The guards are still yelling and running, but this time you are yelling and running right back, clambering onto a particularly tall boulder and laughing, no,  _ cackling  _ as you raise your hands above your head and send electricity raining from the sky, revelling in their panic and watching them turn and flee, sending thunderbolts flying in their wake and screaming  _ flee, puny humans, flee, flee from the  _ **_inescapable might of a god-_ **

\---

“I am, uh, I am  _ very sorry-” _

“Peaceful, you said.”

“Well, you could, you could say I got a little carried away-”   
  
_ “Quiet,  _ you said.”

“I can get you a new cape?” you say hopefully. 

He stares at you through the mask. You resolutely avert your eyes.

\---

You do get him a new cape, and in return he doesn’t attack you the moment you walk back through the door.

\---

So the guards have recognised you. No big deal. It is a simple thing to just wear a cape with a hood large enough to cover your face. 

“I don’t need anything from human markets,” growls the vampire (can he say anything without snarling?), but he snatches the new clothes and candles and basic supplies that you bring back the moment you offer them up, and you take that to mean that you are now good, and that he will not drain you of all your blood the moment you turn away. 

\---

You really did mean to move on, but it’s kind of nice to have company after travelling solo for so many months. And for all his judgmental staring and not-at-all-veiled insults and generally disagreeable behavior, the vampire doesn’t actually kick you out- and really, the castle is more than big enough for two. 

Every day, you visit the nearby towns and conduct yourself as any respectable mage would, and every night, you slip back into the crumbling excuse of a castle to hang out with your (un)friendly demonic pal. 

_ “Why are you still in my castle,” _ he says, pushing a rickety chair in front of him to block your path. 

_ “Our _ castle,” you say, sitting down and making yourself comfortable. 

He growls again, but by now you’re used to it. 

\---

“...And he can turn into a bat.”

“What?” he says, leaning back in his chair. “That makes no sense.”

You use the light from the fireplace to make bat shadow-puppets. “For flying,” you say. Bet his bulging muscles can’t beat  _ that. _

The vampire is silent for a second, and then suddenly...he’s gone? You scramble up from your chair, that’s impossible, he said vampires can’t shapeshift-

The mist curls around your ankle, up to your leg, wrapping around your wrist. And even though he currently has no corporeal form, you can somehow still hear him laughing. 

\---

You take to spending the evenings regaling him with stories about the vampires in your world, because this world doesn’t have any goddamn entertainment. Books? They have to be handwritten. TV? The closest thing is a travelling performing troupe, and those only show up in the city. Video games? A distant, distant dream. 

“I don’t want to hear any more of this,” he says, clutching the arms of his chair. 

“There are three more movies,” you say agreeably. “And I haven’t even told you about the werewolf.” 

\---

The next day, you see him covertly sticking his arm out in the sunlight, pulling his sleeve back down only when he’s confirmed that his skin definitely doesn’t sparkle. 

\---

It only occurs to you months after barging into his home that you've never actually seen him feed. 

"Don't you need blood?" you ask. 

He grunts non-committedly, which you've learned usually means yes. But you haven't seen him leave the entire time you've been here, which means either he's been incredibly sneaky, or he just hasn't been eating. And you don't see any telltale signs of other human life in the castle...

He rolls his eyes when you offer to donate blood. 

"You'd just give me indigestion," he says, and disappears into mist. 

_ Ingrate.  _

\---

The only sign you get that something is wrong when you get back from town one evening is that the main door is open. 

There's no way it should be open, because you zapped the heavy iron bolt in place, and the way you get in is to clamber through a broken window like the petty criminal you are. 

Faint shouts and the sound of running. The crash of shattering glass. 

You drop your bags of groceries and sprint up the stairs. 

\---

To be fair, the vampire can really hold his own in a fight, but twenty (by the sound of it) against one seems kind of unfair. 

You rush into the hallway expecting to see him using some kind of demon magic, or slashing their throats out, but what he's actually doing is… throwing punches. Good god. Even worse, it's actually working. You see five soldiers already down for the count. 

Before you can clap, or cheer, or question everything you know about vampires and how they fight, the guard closest to him lunges and  _ crap,  _ he got lucky. The sword cuts clean across, shredding his vest (the vest that you  _ just _ bought) and leaving a bleeding gash in its wake. The other guards circle closer, preparing to go all in-

Your lightning magic apparently has no issue being cast indoors. It arcs across the room, sending the closest guards diving for cover as you run into the middle of the hall. 

"Back! Back!" you yell, using your lightning like a cattle prod. The guards stop advancing and start backing up, grabbing their unconscious teammates and dragging them towards the first floor, then stumbling over themselves in their rush to avoid getting electrocuted. You chase them down the stairs and out the door, throwing lightning bolts and screaming about turning them into burnt toast if they ever come back,  _ reveling in their sheer terror- _

A hand grabs your shirt and drags you back inside. 

\---

You try not to freak out when you see the sword wound, but you have definitely not seen worse. Red blood keeps soaking through the bandages you try to press on it, and you can't help but think of mosquitoes, and how they die if you crush them, their bright red blood bursting from their swollen bodies-

_ "Cállate,"  _ he says, and when you stare at him with uncomprehending eyes, "Please just  _ shut up."  _

"Why didn't you drink their blood?" you say, ignoring the sudden revelation that this is a  _ Spanish _ vampire, and still holding the bandages in place. 

_ "I was going to."  _

What does he mean, going to? Why didn’t he just...you think back to the group of guards, scrambling down the staircase, running out the door, because you… oh.  _ Ohh.  _

He stares at you through the mask. You resolutely avert your eyes.

\---

"I am not going to drink your blood." 

"It's not poisoned," you say testily, propping him up into a sitting position. The person with the gaping chest wound has no say; you will cut your arm and force-feed him if it comes to it. 

_ "Por Dios," _ he mutters (under his breath, as if you're not right next to him to hear it). "Have it your way." 

You’re not too sure how this works, but hours of vampire movies and no small amount of online fiction can’t be wrong. You crouch over him and kind of tilt your head, hoping he can reach your neck, because that’s the standard...thing, right? That’s how vampires eat, right?

_ “No mames,” _ he says, and even though you have  _ about had it  _ with his bilingual snarking, you hold still when you see him reaching for his mask. “Close your eyes.”

You close your eyes, and it’s far too late to think about these things, but you really hope it doesn’t-

_ It fucking hurts. _

It’s like getting stabbed with two needles, but the needles are the size of fangs; and also there is no topical anesthetic and the room is positively filthy and you will probably die of infection if you don’t die of blood loss first, is he going to drain fifteen peoples’ worth of blood from you? You don’t have fifteen peoples’ worth of blood, you only have a you’s worth of blood, and you need it to keep being you, but you signed up for this and you chased away all his other food so you’re probably just going to die here and they will find your shriveled, mummified corpse buried in the rubble hundreds of years later-

You can hear a muffled  _ “Dios mío,”  _ and you’re pretty sure you’ve been babbling your last words because you can  _ literally feel the blood leaving your body. _ This is it. It’s not how you expected to leave this mortal plane, but you chose this for yourself. You clutch at his shirt with a white-knuckled grip and try not to whimper too obviously.

He groans. “Can you  _ stop making those fucking sounds?”  _

Oh, oh you are  _ so sorry for the inconvenience.  _ The last thing you want is to interrupt the cruel and heartless draining of your  _ entire body’s worth of blood, _ you will do your best to  _ die a little more quietly- _

_ “I am done,” _ he says, and you blink. You are still alive. You are not, in fact, a shriveled corpse, or any other kind of corpse- a little dizzy, sure, but you’re not spouting blood from the holes in your neck like some kind of vampiric soda fountain. You let go of his shirt (which is probably stretched beyond repair) and try to check his chest wound, but as you attempt to detach yourself you realize that he’s still got you in a vice grip. The arm around your waist, which definitely wasn’t there when you closed your eyes, squeezes just a tiny bit more, and you realize you can’t turn your head because his other hand is fisted in your hair. 

“Um,” you say, suddenly very aware that he could just squeeze a  _ little bit more _ and pop you like a balloon.

A moment of silence. Then a “Sorry,” and the grip loosens just enough for you to confirm that yes, his chest wound has healed over. The vampire waits, hovering his hands awkwardly, like he’s not sure where to put them now. 

“How long has it been since you hung out with someone?” you say, squinting.

Silence. 

You stare.  He resolutely averts his eyes. 

You drop your whole weight onto his legs (ignoring the muttered curses) and fling one arm around his neck (ignoring the muttered curses). “You could've just asked for a hug.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you gesture theatrically to the two new holes in your neck. With a dramatic sigh, he settles back against the wall; and the two of you sit, surrounded by broken furniture and abandoned swords, until sunrise. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> instead of te quiero or mi amor i had to google how to say "shut up" and "r u for real" and "oh my fucking god" in spanish, really out here living my best life


	4. Reaper | Epilogue (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 🔞🔞🔞

You decide it’s high time to start socializing him. What if he wants to go back into demon society? How will he make other vampire friends? 

“Stop that,” he says, trying to peel you off his back. You cling stubbornly on, because if he can punch five guards into unconsciousness, he can handle you dangling off him like a second cape.

“Physical affection is one of the key steps to fostering a well-rounded, healthy child,” you say, and he very physically lifts you up by your collar and drops you unceremoniously onto the floor. 

\---

You spend all your free time trying to get him ready to re-enter society, but one thing you can’t get over is how cold he is. Not in a sense of his attitude (you’ve long since learned to ignore that), but, like...he’s just physically cold to the touch. He doesn't seem to mind it, but other demons might. Who wants to hang out with an angry ice cube? 

You try to help him warm up somehow, but he just brushes you off and says things like “Fire does not warm me," and "I don't need another cape," and "Get that flaming torch out of my face." 

"No one wants to hug a snowman," you say, tossing the burning wood into the fireplace and leaving the cape by the door in case he changes his mind. 

"You don't seem to have a problem with it," he says, and of course  _ you _ don't, but you have been living together for the better part of a year, and also you are a mage, a master of magic, an almighty being who  _ obviously _ will not be cowed by a mere change in temperature-

He eyes you as you leave. It's somehow even more threatening with the mask off. 

\---

Speaking of masks, he did try to put his back on after that big fight- but you somehow convince him not to, because someone with a face like  _ that _ and a body like  _ that _ owes it to the world to go around, if not completely naked, then at least without some stupid halloween mask covering their face. 

"Is looking at the scars that fun to you?" he gripes, as if scars do not just add rugged charm to his  _ fucking adonis face and chiseled body.  _

"I wish you could see your reflection in the mirror," you say fervently, grabbing a piece of fraying paper and trying to draw it out instead. 

He looks horrified when you show it to him, and admittedly you were never the  _ best _ at drawing. At least you tried. 

\---

It only occurs to you after almost a year of cohabitation that you don't actually know his name. There are only two of you in this castle, and "you" has worked just fine so far, but you can't make him roleplay "introduce yourself to another vampire" without names. 

"Gabriel," he says when you ask, shifting to support your weight (you've been slowly wearing him down. He doesn't even try to throw you out the window when you attach yourself to his back anymore). 

"Like the angel?!" 

He narrows his eyes. "What?" 

Apparently he does not, in fact, know a Michael, or a Raphael, or an Uriel, and the irony of a demon sharing a name with an archangel is yet another joke you can't share. Disappointing. 

\---

Time passes this way, easily and comfortably. He gets more and more used to the immense ("immensely  _ annoying," _ he says, but you ignore it) amount of physical contact, and now if you try to jump at him, he catches you instead of turning into mist and watching you fall flat on your face.  _ Progress.  _

The only problem is that he still doesn't bother trying to make any new friends. 

“Go out,” you say, poking at the fireplace. “Meet people.”

“No,” he says, making himself even more comfortable in his chair. You can’t leave him like this. 

“What happens when I leave?” you say, because  _ what happens  _ when you finally continue on your tour around this shiny new world? Will he just continue to sit here in this dark, depressing castle by himself until the end of time? You cannot leave your child all alone like this. 

“Leave?” he says, and wow, now you have his attention. Not good attention. More like since-you’re-leaving-maybe-I’ll-just-help-myself-to-your-blood attention. “You’re leaving?”

“Maybe?” You don’t really know yet, but suddenly he’s out of his chair and looming over you, glowering and looking like you just set fire to his cape again. 

“Why?” he says, and “What do you want?”, glowering the whole time as if you’re trying to blackmail him into giving you his immortal soul or something.

“You can ask me to stay if you want,” you say, “because we are  _ friends.” _

You didn’t think it was possible, but the glowering actually intensifies. He looks like he’s physically trying not to spontaneously combust. 

“Fine.  _ Stay.”  _ he says, through gritted teeth. It is literally the farthest thing from what you’d consider polite and friendly, but you will take it, because you like this vampire and his grumpy face and his weird obsession with living in dark, spooky castles. 

“Okay,” you say, and when he stomps back over to his chair you follow him, clambering over the armrest and using him as a (rather cold) sofa. A cold, growling sofa, but at least he doesn’t turn into mist or toss you across the room or anything.    
  
“If you’re grateful,” you say, “you could try and make new friends."

Silence. 

“Or clean up the castle." 

_ Glowering _ silence. 

Fine. Ignore you, go ahead, even though you are a good friend who  _ just wants the best for him _ and you don't know why whatever passes for god in this world gave him that  _ stupid face _ and  _ ridiculous incredible body _ if he's not even going to show it off-

"Do you really like it that much," he says, and you really have to stop complaining out loud, but also yes. Yes you do. 

He reaches down, and you suddenly go from “using him as a sofa” to “face-to-face and also  _ super fucking close”.  _

“I can think of better things to do than go outside,” he says, suddenly and  _ very suspiciously  _ comfortable with physical contact. 

“Are you,” you say disbelievingly, “are you actually trying to get out of cleaning with whatever this is?”

He narrows his eyes, and  _ oh my god  _ he's actually offended. "You don't want to?" 

Oh, for fuck's sake. You give up and grab his afore-mentioned stupid face, and kissing a vampire is about as cold and strange a feeling as you would expect. 

You feel his arms wrap around your waist, and you can tell. You can tell he's being smug, even though you were the one who spent a good half a year getting him used to physical contact and without you he would still be a stiff, nervous,  _ vampire-shaped wooden plank- _

"Yes, yes,  _ gracias por todo,”  _ he says, tilting his head to both get a better angle and stop you from making any more complaints. His hands slide up your back as he deepens the kiss, playing with the neckline of your top, and your complaints are getting a little hard to remember. 

He reaches up to tug your shirt off, and you take the opportunity to once again admire his physique. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe he turned into an unaging vampire at the perfect time, freezing his sculpted muscles in perfect shape for all eternity. 

"I still age," he says, draping your shirt across the back of the chair and going right back to running his hands over your chest. "I'm not a pureblood." 

That sounds really very interesting, and you do honestly want to know more, but he chooses that exact moment to lean down and you have about a second to worry about unfortunately-placed fang marks before he laves his tongue over one nipple. 

His hands are cold, but the inside of his mouth is still slightly warm, and it's really fucking with your brain's temperature receptors. He's got one hand around your waist again, just to make sure you have nowhere to go while he does his apparent best to acquaint his mouth with someone else's body, licking and sucking and probably leaving marks that will take weeks to fade. 

"Come on," you say, tugging at his hair, and he lifts his head with a groan. His arms slide down, and you just know he’s going to try and haul you up into some misguided position that  _ he _ is more than able to achieve but will that turn  _ you  _ into a human pretzel. You bat his hands away and grind down instead, against the painfully obvious bulge in his pants.

_ "Fuck," _ he says, and yanks you up, and suddenly your clothes are halfway across the room and you have never seen him move this fast, even in a fight. This truly  _ is _ the power of  _ getting some. _ He reaches down as you settle back on his lap, but you slap his hands away because you are  _ not _ letting him put his frozen fingers anywhere near-

"My mouth is warm," he says, undeterred, and your brain kind of short circuits. Something to save for next time, you need to get to the actual fucking like right away—because now that you think about it, it has been way, way too long since you got any kind of action. You've been on your own since coming to this god forsaken world, and if a super hot, super ripped vampire comes waltzing up to you offering to dick down, you  _ sure as hell- _

"Stop thinking," he says, sneaking one hand between your legs, and yeah. That'll do it. You take back all the bad things you said about the cold. His fingers circle your clit, then slowly dip inside you. He takes his time to stretch you out, when really he should be trying to warm you up instead, because if his dick is as cold as the rest of him you're going to get muscle cramps. Time to move things along, you think, and go for his belt. It takes a little time to undo it, made harder by him doing his level best to distract you with his fingers, but eventually you get it open. He drops his head, sucking in a breath as you palm his cock, which is probably going to give you muscle cramps for a whole bunch of reasons. 

Whatever. You're a trooper. 

The slide of his fingers inside you distracts you for only a moment more, and then you shift, lifting yourself up. He actually has the gall to  _ tch  _ at you and try to put his hand right back where it was, but you align yourself with a more interesting part of his anatomy and he hisses, going very still. 

"Shouldn't I help," he says, but if you have to change positions now,  _ you _ will spontaneously combust. You lower yourself slowly, feeling the stretch as he breaches you inch by inch. 

He's saying something, a long string of curses in a language that you don't care to understand right now, and gripping the armrests with white-knuckled fists. You keep going, slowly, and  _ finally _ he's fully inside. You knew you could do it. You'd clap if your arms weren't shaking. 

It's been a while. You give yourself a few seconds to get accommodated, then sling one arm over his shoulder for leverage as you start to move. Slowly. Muscle cramps can be avoided with proper precautions. 

Your vague memories of other sexual encounters, as expected, really don't hold a candle to the real thing. You angle your hips so that each lift and drop gives you the sliding friction that you have really (really,  _ really) _ missed. 

"Ah, fuck, just let me," he says, but he doesn't try to take the lead. He just leans forward, and you can feel his warm breath on your neck. You think suddenly and uncomfortably about blood donations, is this blood play? You're not really into blood play-

He sucks a bruise into the side of your neck, one hand tangling in your hair, and, well, maybe you can be just a  _ little bit _ into blood play. 

His other hand slides down again, thumb rubbing against your clit, and the sudden sensation throws you off-balance. You slip, losing your rhythm and dropping your full weight into his lap. 

_ "Fuck-"  _

He  _ growls _ and all at once his hands move, hooking your legs over his forearms so he can haul you up and drag you down on his cock, over and over again, and the faint, small part of your mind that can still form thoughts thinks  _ so this is what all the muscles are for.  _

The pace is twice as fast as when you were moving on your own, and his hands are clutching your waist with vice-like grips; and you just give up. You throw both arms around his neck and hang on for dear life as he pounds into you, mouth flush against your neck, and let him do all the work. 

"Are you going to," he says, cut-off and a little desperate, and you nod and say  _ yes _ even though you don't think he can really hear you. He slips one hand free and moves back to your clit, rubbing in tight, hard circles as he grinds up into you, lifting his head so he can see the glazed look on your face as you come. 

The hand between your legs keeps going, and he watches you with feral intensity until the simulation gets too much and you slump back over him, clutching at his arms. Then, as if he was just holding out to make a point, he grinds up into you one more time and buries his head against your chest, groaning as he finishes inside you. 

\---

"What's wrong?" he says, when you try to slide off, tightening his grip on your waist. 

"Muscle cramps," you say, trying to inch closer to the fireplace. 

Instead of just letting you move, he picks you up and sits in front of the fire, still holding on to you as if you're going to wander off and fall out a window or something. Rude. 

"You're staying," he says, and even though he tries to phrase is like a statement, you hear it for the question it is. 

You just nod. Maybe it won't count as leaving if the both of you travel together, but that's a conversation for another day. For now, you lean your head on his shoulder, and revel in the warmth of the fireplace, and watch the sparks crackle and dance until you fall asleep. 

  
\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was supposed to be a <2k epilogue how tf did it become this long


	5. McCree | Epilogue (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just finishing up mccree's epilogue before moving on!

Demon territory is not, to your great disappointment, the wild west. There are no canyons. No great plains. No alternate-universe version of Westworld. In fact, it looks a lot like the dark, damp region of this world you just left. 

“Here,” he says, passing you his cloak. “Don’t want nobody finding out you ain’t a demon, right?”

\---

_“I don’t think-”_

“It works,” you say. “See?”

“Darlin’, all I see is you tying two twigs to your head,” he says, and sure, okay, _maybe_ it’s two twigs tied to your head, but there is _beauty in simplicity_ and you’re not an enchanter for no reason. 

You spot a demon riding a cart down the cobblestone path and take off before he can stop you, waving. 

“Hello,” you say, trying to ignore the sounds of your own demon crashing through the bushes to catch up with you. 

“Afternoon,” it says, just in time to see you get yanked up and back by your collar. “Don’t normally see two succubi together. You siblings?”

\---

“It works,” you say smugly, still dangling from his grip on your shirt.

\---

He makes you take the disguise off when you finally reach his house, because apparently _it’s the dumbest goddamn thing he’s ever seen_ and _please stop shaking your head to make ‘em wobble_ and _the overlord himself cannot make him hold a conversation with you while you’re dressed like the world’s saddest tree._

You stick on another enchanted twig as a tail, and go around introducing yourself as his cousin. 

\---

"I didn't know Jesse had a cousin," says your neighbor, hovering at the windowsill. 

"Me either," he says. You stomp on his foot, but he looks marvelously unrepentant. 

\---

No matter where in this world you go, it looks like there's always a need for magic-users, and so you manage to set up shop with almost no trouble at all. In fact, demons with non-combatant skills seem especially uncommon, so you get customers almost immediately after moving in. 

"My house ain't a store," he says, but he helps you clear the living room without complaining too much. 

\---

Now that you're here in demon territory, you get to see what he does for a living—kind of. It's less "take your cousin to work day" and more "see him crawl half-dead through the door after disappearing for two weeks again". 

"Got my very own medic," he says, grinning as you uncap the potion and dump it over his head. "I can afford to go takin' a few risks." 

You hold out your hands. 

"Cash," you say. He pales. 

"You _sure_ you don't want sex instead?" he says hopefully, but you're already reaching for his wallet. 

\---

Apparently succubi and incubi have a reputation for _amazing sex,_ because you never run out of demons coming up to you and trying to not-so-subtlely invite you over to their place for some of that sweet, sweet action.

“Not takin’ them up on their offers?” he says. _He_ might be fine, but you're pretty sure _your_ puny human body can't handle things like fiery limbs and frozen appendages. So no. You are not. Also, you lean towards monogamy.

“Hmm.”

\---

You get used to the city and its inhabitants. Wings and horns and hooves don’t warrant a second look. Strapping plant stems to your head in the morning becomes as habitual as brushing your teeth. 

If there’s one thing you’re not used to yet, it’s how often your roommate comes back injured, and how long it takes him to get back to normal. 

“Don’t you mind me,” he says, even though you are the one who has to enchant enough potions to drown him with and enough bandages to mummify his waterlogged corpse. 

He takes longer and longer to heal. You try not to think about it too much. 

\---

He disappears for another week, and then another, and by the third week you’re convinced he’s finally keeled over in a ditch somewhere and you’re going to have to either live the rest of your life as a demon cosplayer or flee a city for the second time in as many years. 

The relief you feel when the door is slammed open is short-lived, because he looks even worse than he did the night you met him. 

_“Idiot,”_ says the small, sparkly demon who kicked the door in, looking almost as beat-up and doing an admirable job of dragging him in, despite her being half his size and probably a third his weight. 

“Murgh,” he says, as she dumps him onto a chair. You suppose that’s about as much speech as you can expect for someone who only has half his normal amount of blood. 

“Y’all related?” she says, and good god. You didn’t think anyone else spoke that way. You nod. 

“Find him someone,” she says, kicking his chair. “Make him eat!”

With that she stomps out, trailing blood and muttering about _dead weight_ and _wastin' her time_. 

"Aw, don't pay her no mind," he says, waving one arm in an impressively corpse-like manner. "It ain't as bad as it looks-" 

He doubles over coughing, almost sliding off his chair. You go grab the bandage box. 

\---

"Not hungry," he says, grabbing your arm when you try to go out and find a volunteer. He can complain all he wants, but if your memory is right, incubi need life force to not die — and he looks awfully close to dying right now. He also looks like he'd rather starve to death than eat, so it might be time for slightly stronger measures. 

You help him stagger to his room, dump as many potions as you can onto him, and stay by his bedside to make absolutely sure he falls asleep. 

He looks up at you like he wants to say something important, but you just pull the blanket over his head, because it's important that he falls asleep. So very, very important. 

\---

"Um," he says. He slept until sunrise, and you would know, because you were watching him the whole time. 

"Are you feeling better?" you ask. 

"Why am I tied to the bed?" 

\---

_“It does not work that way!”_

You’re not sure why he’s still arguing. Force feeding might not be the most pleasant way of getting him back to normal, sure; but he threw a fit last night when you tried to go out and find another donor, so what else are you going to do? Let him shrivel up into a sad, sex-less corpse? 

“Will you just,” he says, and no, you will not. You straddle him (being careful of the bandages) and pat his head in what you hope is an encouraging way. 

He blinks at you, but before he can open his mouth to argue again, you lean over and bite down on the side of his neck. 

“What-”

You suck a mark into his skin, licking at the bruise, and he chokes on whatever irrelevant complaint he was going to make. You make your way across, mouthing at his collarbone, running your tongue over the stubble at the edge of his jaw, feeling his breath catch in his throat. 

He groans, his hands balling into fists. He tugs at the ropes, but it’s not like you made them particularly strong- normally he’d be able to escape without a problem, but it’s not _your_ fault he tried to starve to death. The ropes stay. Sucker. 

“Darlin’, just listen,” he says, and if you knew he was going to complain so much you would have saved some of those bandages to make a gag. Instead, you just concentrate on getting whatever blood he has left in his body to go down where it needs to go. 

You spread your hands, running your palms down his sides, sliding yourself further down so you can press kisses over his shoulders, his chest, over the muscles of his stomach. Every time you think he’s going to start arguing again, you scrape your teeth over something- a patch of skin, a tensed muscle- and he loses his train of thought. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, but it’s gratifying to know you’ve still got the basics down. 

Speaking of the basics - you roll your hips, and yes. It looks like the blood’s gone where you need it. _Fantastic. It’s time for sex._

He’s been quiet for a few precious minutes, but when you reach down to unbutton his pants, his eyes snap open again. 

“Wait, wait, _just hold your horses,”_ he says, and you actually stop, because hearing the phrase ‘hold your horses’ is not, and never will be, something you want to hear when you’re about to get busy. 

“I need your life force,” he says, and when no spark of comprehension lights up in your eyes, he just sighs. “Get up here, c’mon.”

You squint, because this sounds a lot like a stalling tactic, but he just jerks his head in an “up, up” kind of motion. You suppose you can go with it for now. 

You crawl up, over his stomach, over his chest, and he still keeps motioning you over until finally you’re basically straddling his face. 

“Oi,” you say, because what the fuck is this? Foreplay? There is no time for foreplay. _You already did the foreplay._ What you need now is to punch as much life force as you can into his stupid, thickheaded brain-

You don’t notice until you feel warm breath ghost over your thighs that he’s already got his face buried between your legs. He mouths over your underwear, lapping at your clit through the thin cloth, and you realize that maybe this is what he meant by your life force. You will not, _will not_ make jokes about literally eating you-

“Concentrate,” he says, closing his mouth over you and _sucking,_ and okay. No jokes. You card your hands through his hair and try not to lose your balance as he runs his tongue over any exposed skin that he can find, watching you through hooded eyes. Your underwear is soaked, your legs are shaking, your grip in his hair is so tight it has to hurt. 

“Untie my hands, c’mon,” he groans, nipping at your inner thigh, and you suppose it’s only fair. The moment you do, he reaches up and _rips_ your underwear aside, and you have a split second to mourn the fact that it’s now torn beyond repair before his mouth is right back on your now-exposed skin, tongue working over your clit, one hand holding your leg up while the other slides two fingers inside you and _fuck fuck fuck._

“C’mon, c’mon, lemme hear you,” he says, or you think he says it, you’re having a little trouble hearing over the roaring in your ears, and then you’re doubling over, shaking as your orgasm rips through you. 

“Ow,” is the first thing you hear, when you can actually hear again. You loosen the death-grip you had on his hair, and try to ignore the smug, stupid, crooked little grin on his face. 

Actually - you look again. He looks remarkably less like a corpse. His skin is back to its normal tan. 

“Tried to tell ya,” he says. Well. It worked out, didn’t it? 

He moves, lifts a hand to try and help you off. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, darl-”

What? No. You yank him up to a sitting position, reaching down to check- yeah, blood’s still there. 

He groans when you press a hand over the bulge in his pants, dropping his head to your shoulder. “I can’t feed off my own life force, so we don’t have to do anything.”

Uh, yes, sure you don’t _have to,_ but you tied him to the bed expecting dick, and you (and your pride) will _not leave until there is dick._ You get his pants undone at what can only be described as lightning speed, leaving them bunched around his thighs as you line yourself up.

“Ah, fuck, _fuck-”_ he chokes on his words again, biting down on your shoulder as you sink onto his lap, watching him bottom out inside you. Considering everything going on, you don’t expect him to last long, so you, ever magnanimous, can volunteer to do all the work today. You push him back against the headboard, balancing yourself on your knees and bracing an arm against the wall as you grind up and down. It’s sloppy, and you can’t really get a smooth rhythm, but judging by the constant stream of oddly southern-sounding curses, he doesn’t really care. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, gripping so hard you’re almost certainly going to have finger-mark bruises. 

“Close,” he grits out, hips making jagged, uneven thrusts up into you. Fantastic. Good to know you’ve still got it. He mouths at the shell of your ear, and a sudden chill runs down your spine. You grip his hair, pulling his head up to look at you. He blinks, wide-eyed. 

“If you say ‘yee haw’ or something, I’m never helping you again,” you say. He slumps back, groaning. 

“Darlin’,” he says, “if you could do me the favor of a lifetime an’ just-”

He cups your cheek, turning your head so he can cover your mouth with his own, and fine. Mutual silence works just as well. You tangle a hand in his hair, feeling his movements get more and more uneven, and he spills inside you with a muffled moan. 

\---

“Thanks,” he says, not moving from where he’s shoved himself into your side. You pat him on the head, trying not to get shoved off the mattress. 

“McCree,” says the sparkly demon, poking her head through the doorway. “You better not be dead, you dumb sack o-”

She stares, her jaw dropping so far you can almost hear it hit the floor.

“Y’all,” she says faintly. “Y’all are _related.”_

He’s up and out of the bed in a split second, saying “Now hold on,” and “Remember that time I snuck into the human city,” and “Just listen for _one freakin’ second-”_

You sigh, take a second to listen to the indignant screeching coming from the hallway, and get up to reattach the twigs to your head. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Home Alabama feat. Demon!Ashe
> 
> thank you all again for the lovely comments!! it's super motivating akjhfsjdkg


	6. Guard!Soldier 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> needed to toss a human character in so doesn't turn into YET ANOTHER demon-fucking oneshot collection (Ф∀Ф)

The castle is guarded far better than you expected, and when you get to the gates there’s a full battalion waiting for you.

“Come with us, please,” says their leader, his voice almost too muffled to hear under the heavy metal helmet. 

It is at this point, early on in your adventure, that you figure out what your magic other-worldly power is- and you discover it by punching the captain, who goes flying across the courtyard, and then by punching a you-sized hole in the courtyard wall.

No one else tries to stop you from leaving.

\---

You walk all the way out of the city into the dense, surrounding forest, and discover that your punches work just as well on armored skin as they do on armored people.

This is amazing for you. The large monsters roaming the forest take the news somewhat less well. 

\---

You decide not to leave the city, because the adventurer’s guild has a ridiculous number of bounties on a ridiculous number of monsters, and you walk out of their headquarters with a ridiculous amount of gold.

It’s a good life. You venture out, clear the surrounding area of murderous beasts, maybe escort a merchant out until they reach the proper highway, and then spend the evenings exploring the city.

If only the guards would leave you alone. 

It’s not like you even go out of your way to antagonise them. You take the back roads, climb over walls and fences, and generally make as much of an effort to avoid the patrols as they do to find you. They don't even put up much of a fight- you just pick up whatever big, bulky thing is nearest to you and start throwing, and what use are swords and shields when there’s, like, five wheelbarrows hurtling in their direction?

In the end, all it is is a waste of both your time and theirs, and you can only hope they come to their senses, because  _ you’re _ not the one who’s going to pay for all that property damage. 

\---

All of them do, in fact, give up after a couple of months. Well. Almost all of them. 

“Get  _ back here,” _ the captain says, leaping onto the rooftop to catch up with you, and this is the third time this week. Does this man not have anything else better to do? Train his guards? Patrol the city? Poke some breathing holes into his helmet?

You dodge him and run across the rooftops. He somehow manages to keep pace with you in full-body armor. You body-slam a hole in a wall to escape, and he just scales that same wall at top speed. You chuck debris at him, and he dodges it with a dexterity that someone his size has no right to have. 

It gets to the point that you start spending your nights outside the city gates, because the last thing you need is to wake up to him crawling through your window, still clutching your wanted poster in one hand. 

\---

If you had to, you would say that the city honestly seems more on your side than on the guards’. 

Aside from all the general complaints that every populace has about its police force, most of the city’s soldiers aren’t a match for the monsters skulking around outside. Adventurers? Yes. Soldiers? No. The only one that’s any use is the captain, and he’s too busy wasting his time chasing you around to do much good.  _ You’re _ the one actually clearing the quests on the guild bulletin board, and so  _ you’re _ the one the guild sides with, even when he marches in every other day demanding for them to tell him where you are. 

“Can’t you just kill ‘im already?” says the guild receptionist casually, in a stunning display of sociopathy. You make a note to never get on their bad side. 

But no, you can’t just kill him, because even after three straight months of chasing you around, he’s never actually tried to kill  _ you.  _

\---

You’re not sure why. Maybe he needs to bring you in alive. Maybe he doesn’t want his sword smashed into little bits. Maybe he just doesn’t want to get within punching range. Your special power is strength, not defense, and you're pretty sure a sword can still cut you. You’ll just never know because he’s never tried, and no one else has even gotten close enough to take a swing. 

You make even more effort to avoid the guards- and the nights you spend outside the city turn into days, and then into weeks. You’re strong enough to carry around an obscene amount of supplies, and the monsters roaming around have started steering clear, and so what started out as monster-hunting has basically turned into glorified camping. 

You set up on a nice, quiet spot by the lake, and you’ve just got a fire going when you hear a horribly familiar voice.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he says, stepping out from the shadows by the water, and a man wearing literal metal armor has no right to be this sneaky. 

You get up and the moment you do, he plants his feet and raises his arms like he’s getting ready for a fight. A...fist fight.

“Just use your sword,” you say, because sure, you might get cut real bad, but his insistence on not using it is really getting to you. 

He pauses. You wait. The silence stretches. You start walking towards him, and when you get too close he actually falters, taking a step back. The stones by the waterbed are slippery, and it might not be the best idea to go in that direction, but before you can tell him that he hits his leg on a rock and _ slips, _ landing in the water with a giant splash. 

You wait for him to resurface, and suddenly it occurs to you that a full suit of metal is perhaps a hindrance to anyone trying to not drown. 

\---

It turns out neither of you are particularly good swimmers. You barely manage to drag him out of the lake in one piece. 

He rolls over coughing, and you reach over to help him. He tries to bat your hand away, still retching, but finally gives in and lets you unlatch his armor. 

The moment the helmet comes off, you start gawping. He’s got to be decades older than you. His cropped hair is completely white, and a pair of brutal scars criss-cross over his weathered face. 

He hauls himself up to a sitting position, sighing. 

“Not what you expected?”

This man kept up with you while you were chucking barrels at his head. 

_ “Old,” _ you say.

_ “Thanks.” _

\---

It takes a while for the both of you to dry, and so you end up sitting in silence by the fire. Well, you sit in silence. He’s moved on to try and salvage his sword from rusting, and really he shouldn’t have brought it along if he wasn’t going to use it. 

He sighs again when you point at it. “I was hoping to bring you in without any bloodshed- I  _ know,” _ he says, when you open your mouth to argue about how you shouldn’t have to go back in the first place. “It’s my job. I have to.”

He seems a bit  _ too  _ dedicated to his job. Maybe workers’ rights haven't reached this world yet. 

“I’ll keep coming after you,” he says, trying to sound stern, which doesn’t work so well when he’s dripping wet and looking like all he wants to do is lie down and sleep forever. 

You hand him a blanket. 

\---

He does actually come after you again, but as the days go by, he seems to put less and less effort into it. “Half a day spent chasing you around the city” becomes “hours spent chasing you around the city”, and then “maybe putting on a show for like, an hour before just kind of hanging around so it looks like he’s still doing his job”.

He even starts joining you when you camp outside, somehow managing to walk silently even with his heavy armor. 

He doesn’t talk much, so you talk instead. You tell him about your world, and all the different places you’ve been, and about worker’s unions, because honestly it sounds like something the guards should really be considering. 

“Always wanted to travel,” he says, and you find out that he’s spent his whole life as a guard in this city. Travelling, apparently, is for rich people. Nobles. Merchants. Defective summons with the punching force of a truck. 

"You could come with me?" you say, because spending  _ your _ life in this city isn't something you want to do, and it'd be nice to have someone to travel with. 

He blinks. "I can't. The city needs me." 

The city seemed to run fine while he was distracted with you, but ehh. He looks too tired for you to push your point for now, so you stoke the fire and let him stare into the flames. 

\---

Your days get quieter and more peaceful, and you see him less and less. According to the guild, the guards are preparing for some sort of siege to clear the forest of monsters one and for all. 

"Dunno why they didn't just ask you," the receptionist says, and being a  _ wanted fugitive _ aside, you hope it's not also because their captain is avoiding you. 

\---

You don't mean to follow the battalion out into the forest. You were just already on your way there. You're definitely not watching their leader, who probably should have retired years ago, just in case he gets eaten by a monster or something. 

You walk deeper in, until the trees are so dense that even sunlight has a hard time getting through, and still no sign of anyone. Did you miss them? Was today not the day? Did they suddenly inherit their captain's newfound lackadaisical attitude and just decide to camp out somewhere? 

Then you hear shouts, and screams, and the clashing of swords, and break into a run. 

\---

The guards are in way over their heads, and there are way more monsters than you expected. There's so much chaos that no one even notices you skulking around the edge of the battlefield, trying to pick out the captain among a blur of people wearing the exact same armor. 

It's impossible. You're just going to have to go in yourself. When you run in, the soldiers around pause, but no one stops you when you pick up rocks on the ground and start throwing. In fact, they start backing off, making sure they don't get caught in the crossfire. You think you see some of them actually shuffle around to get a good view. 

You and your almost infinite supply of ammo (run out of rocks? Throw the guards' equipment. Run out of equipment? Throw the guards.) make short work of most of the beasts, and any stragglers can be taken down by whichever of the guards still have their swords. You crane your neck, still looking for their captain, and you're getting just a little worried—

_ "Move!" _ someone growls, and suddenly you're being body-slammed to the side, hitting the ground and skidding across the dirt. The monster that was apparently a split second away from biting off your head like you're a gummy bear is dogpiled on by the near guards. 

“Are you okay?” he says, patting you down and checking for injuries, and maybe he should have considered that before he tried to suplex you into a tree. Then he realizes what he’s doing and jerks away, but you’ve had enough of his sad attempts to avoid you. 

You get up, grab him, and sweep him up into your arms in a princess carry. 

“I’m kidnapping your captain,” you say. He stares. The guards stare. The monster stares. 

“Put me down,” he says, but your strength is unparalleled. All he can do is flail. 

“Travel with me,” you say coaxingly. 

“I have to do my job,” he says in an odd, strained voice, and you can tell that even under the helmet his face is bright red. 

Silence.

“Not really,” one guard says, shuffling.

“I mean,” says another one. “You and his Majesty’re the only one still chasing her, so…”

“I don’t like fighting monsters,” says a third guard. The monster takes this opportunity to slip back into the forest. 

He’s stunned into silence. You shake him a little.

“So you can come with me? Okay? Yes?”

“Will you put me down if I say yes?” he says.

You shrug.

He buries his face in his hands, sighing.

_ “Yes.” _

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you so much for reading and for leaving all the lovely comments!!


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